


Smoke and Ashes

by escritoireazul



Category: Ghost and the Darkness (1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, F/M, Ghost Hunting, Haunting, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:02:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28299402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escritoireazul/pseuds/escritoireazul
Summary: The Pattersons are invited to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, Missouri in 1904. Or rather, Lt. Colonel John Henry Patterson is invited to participate in the great engineering intellectual debates, and after Tsavo, John does not travel without his wife and young son.It comes as no surprise when Helena finds them a ghost.
Relationships: Colonel John Henry Patterson/Helena Patterson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Smoke and Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecarlysutra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecarlysutra/gifts).



> Thank you, beta to be named later.

The Pattersons are invited to the Louisiana Purchase Exposition in St. Louis, Missouri in 1904. Or rather, Lt. Colonel John Henry Patterson is invited to participate in the great engineering intellectual debates, and after Tsavo, John does not travel without his wife and young son.

The Exposition, which the locals informally name the St. Louis World Fair, a name that delights Helena to no end, is delayed until April. They arrive in January, one cold, dreary day. John has not missed the bright sun and deep warmth of Tsavo in quite some time, at least not as much as he does now.

Helena is charmed by it, by the snow and the people, their American accents quite a change from what they've heard in their travels across the continent, and the women she meets are enthralled with their son and with Helena's stories of their travels.

Carefully edited, of course, so they are suitable for both mixed company and those many people who do not know, as John and Helena do, about the monstrosities that lurk around them.

For the first time in a long time, they have been called somewhere solely for his engineering experience and the strength and beauty of the bridges he builds. It is peaceful and sweet, and John basks in the warmth of their rooms, the delight of their bed, the ability to do the thing he loves most with the two people he loves most, with no threats lingering.

Still, he is unsurprised when Helena finds them a monster.

For at least a year now, Helena has been intrigued by ghosts.

That, too, is not a surprise. They have faced shapeshifters and hounds that stank of brimstone, blood drinkers and dark magic, and several humans monstrous in their own right, nothing supernatural about them, but they have never, not once, found an actual ghost at any of the numerous places that claim to be haunted.

Helena wants to see a ghost, and it seems she has found another place to look.

It stems from a true tragedy and that alone makes John reticent. A tragedy of rich men, too, which is worse. Their families are always touchy and guarded, and John does not want to open Helena to their scrutiny.

But she is determined and in the end, he loves her far too much to let her go about this alone.

In February, William Lemp dies, leaving a family in mourning, a city without one of its great scions, a successful brewery -- and a newly haunted mansion.

It is as normal a haunting as he's ever heard of, at least at first: teacups moving, low moaning, a transparent figure seen in the darkness.

The remaining Lemp family brings in more than one medium to hold seances and try to find answers. They are social events in their own right, and Helena has made herself popular enough with the great families of the city that she and John are more than welcome.

There is darkness and flickering candles casting strange shadows and slight raps on wood and absolutely no actual ghosts, at least as far as he can tell. The family laps up the show of it all. Helena is frustrated. John remains skeptical.

The brewery floods the night after one such séance, thousands of dollars of award-winning beer lost to them.

No one hears or sees anything. No one could have gotten past the guards, and the guards are loyal men the family swears could not be corrupted.

In John's experience nearly anyone can be corrupted, or at least controlled with the right lever. Even he has his weaknesses. _Helena_ , his thoughts turn. _Their children, both the son who exists and the ones they will have in the future, because he knows more children will come._ )

Helena charms her way into the Lemp mansion one day when there is not a séance planned for that night and then on into the brewery. In the light of day, no mediums and their tricks to be seen, there is a melancholy even in the beauty of the mansion.

A melancholy there, and a terrible strange coldness in the brewery.

Helena brings in sage and wildflowers to burn, things she has learned during their extensive travels, though the flowers are not an exact match for what she’s used before. She sets them alight, wafts their smoke through the brewery, waits.

And then comes the fire rushing toward them.

John screams and grabs for Helena, but she slips from his fingers. Despite the fire, despite the billowing smoke obscuring everything far faster than should be possible, she strides forward, unafraid.

He hears her voice but can’t understand her words. Feels pinned in place, railroad spikes driven through his feet. Listens to the rise and fall of her voice, calm, even. When he shouts for her, his voice shakes.

_ He _ shakes, fingers then arms then his entire body. Strains forward, but even when he can finally take a step, he nearly falls.

There’s something in the smoke, something coming for him, something dark against the near blinding flames. They burn from red-orange to blue-white, and he can feel the heat of him, but his skin does not crisp, his hair does not crackle away.

The shadow that stands before him is not William Lemp. It is not a man at all, nor a woman. It is something like a person, four limbs, a torso, a head, but it is too tall and too thin, arms elongated, legs twisted out. Two spots in the head glow and focus on him like eyes, and though he can see nothing but the fire within, he knows the thing rages.

It comes for him. He scrambles backward. Trips over nothing, smoke swirling around his legs. He can feel it in his throat, but just a little, not enough to choke him, not enough to blacken his lungs. It is surreal and all the more frightening for it.

It comes, and John tries to escape. He cannot fight an incorporeal creature, and for all the things he’s faced, all the monsters he’s survived, all the sturdy, safe bridges he’s built, all the people he’s saved, he is suddenly, viscerally certain he is about to die.

Then Helena is there, burning flowers in her hands, a voice loud and strong. Her words are not English, but he’s too far gone to recognize the language. It matters not. All he can do, all he  _ wants _ to do is gaze up at her, glorious against the raging fire. She is power and love and strength and intelligence, all bound together, and she will save him.

She will save the world.

The shadow shatters, and Helena lets the burning flowers fall from her fingers, turning to ash before they strike the floor. The fire around them dies, the smoke disappears, and she sinks down to his side, skirts tucked neatly around her. She’s sweaty and there’s ash smeared on her cheek. Her fingers are rough when they touch his forehead.

“John,” she says, and he’s gone.

When he wakes, Helena wears a different dress, and she’s clean of ash and the smell of smoke. He is, too, he is pleased to note. She’s curled in a chair next to his bed, her head tucked down against her shoulder, her eyes closed.

“Wife,” he whispers. His throat hurts, his body hurts, but he is alive and he is not burnt and those things are more than he could have hoped.

Helena starts, eyes fluttering open. She looks at him a moment, soft with sleep, and then sits up straight. A wide smile breaks across her mouth, brightening everything. She’s beautiful to him, always, but when she beams at him like this, she glows.

“Husband.” The word is a caress. He will never grow tired of hearing her say it.

He reaches for her, but can’t hold his hand up for more than a second. He’s weak, every last inch of him. She leans forward, clasps his hand in both of hers, lending him her strength, her warmth, her softness.

“What happened?” he asks.

“Too many things.” But her smile doesn’t waiver. She squeezes his fingers and tells him of what he missed, the fire in the Lemp Mansion as well as the brewery, the terrified shrieks of the family, the laughter she chased and chased until she found John fallen and the shadow stalking him. 

“It was magic,” she says. “Not a ghost. Not a haunting. A curse, and all because one man’s beer won acclaim over another's.” Her smile twists into a sneer, and her eyes are dark. “The follies of men.”

He laughs. “And women.”

She tilts her head, acknowledging the point. “And women, though not this time.”

He tries to sit up. She rises and helps him, holding him by the shoulders as she moves pillows behind him, props him halfway. It’s not quite what he wants. What he wants is to sit up and tug her into his lap and kiss her until he forgets everything but her, until he presses against her where she is warm and welcoming, until they join as husband and wife, the way he loves still, and always.

But he is too weak, and from the cant of her head, she knows what he’s thinking and will not allow it, not yet. Not until he is well. Or, at least, not until he is stronger and convinces her he will lie back and she can be gentle.

Her face is very close to his while she arranges the last pillow. He turns and steals a kiss.

_ There is no stealing when it is freely given. _ She’s told him that, more than once, and every single time it makes his heart warm.

“You saved me,” he says when he’s settled and she’s taken his hand again. This time, she sits beside him, warm and comfortable and familiar. “You saved them.”

She laughs. “I did nothing special,” she says, even though she banished a magical construct and stopped a curse and bound the caster and revealed a cutthroat businessman. As if everything she did now, and has done before, and will do in the future is simply what anyone would have, should have, could have done.

“I love you,” he tells her, and his voice shakes. He does, he loves her desperately, and he will never be able to tell her often enough.

Her smile is warm, her eyes soft. “I love you,” she tells him as she presses her hand to his cheek. “So much, husband. So very much.”

**Author's Note:**

> William Lemp, the Lemp family, and the mansion and brewery are real, as are stories of the mansion being extremely haunted. Liberties taken here and very few real-world details included.


End file.
